Catch and Release

I remembered a time, when I was young, probably 10 or so, when I used to get up early in the morning and go fishing. In a rather cruel form of childhood recreation I used to catch and release blue gill. I guess I got to feel somehow powerful because I could bait these beautiful but hungry fish onto my hook. I never once, in my childhood, thought about what these fish might have been experiencing. That memory haunts me, as I recall being caught and released.

When I had the stroke I had no idea that life had just caught me. But, I would learn. I was drug out of the water of everything I had ever known. No matter how I wriggled I could not free myself, in fact the hook went deeper. I could have died, perhaps should have, maybe did die in some ways, but was ultimately thrown back in, to live another day in waters that have been forever changed by the hook, and the journey of being caught and released.

Life has become a more complex experience since that time. I no longer believe that what seems to be, really is. The darkness seems to be so deep, deep enough perhaps, to make the light really bright. The more I know that I don’t know anything, the closer to the truth I get. The waters, once they changed, keep changing, and I am lured and landed with each shift. I have a kind of post-traumatic memory. 

I am, because of the vividness of losing, still there, still caught — something hard, inscrutable, exists in me, a gut-wrenching recollection — and I am in the shock of re-birth, of being tossed back. There is nothing now that does not remind me that this moment is fleeting and that radical change is always here. I am caught, horrified from time to time, by the same perception that releases me. I am in the flow of Life but I am not that flow.

I have a hard time being around someone who is bored. I don’t get boredom in the midst  of a natural disaster, like the recent earthquake in Japan. I want to yell, “Wake up! Wake up to the near-death experience you are having.” That is how caught I sometimes am. I forget that I have also experienced release. I am disillusioned, and thereby freed of old limiting beliefs. I am diminished and thereby enlarged. I have had my life taken away from me, and thereby been reintroduced to this improbable miracle I experience as new life.

Being caught always, being released always, makes it hard for me to participate in the day-to-day life that goes on around me. Sometimes I feel crazy. How can anything matter so much? What am I doing here? What’s really going on here? I am caught in a world that is crazy-making, filled with so much pain, despair and hopelessness. I am simultaneously released into that same world and it is unimaginably beautiful, aware, and exquisitely alive. Frequently I am just confused, weepy and uncertain. I can’t even really explain it, to myself or to anyone.

I’ve tried to think about it. Is there anything I have brought back from the edge that I can give my fellow beings, my friends, my community, my kind? I was reduced to nothing, to helplessness and hopelessness (I had to be, in order to learn), I was suspended there for a long time (I had to be, to be rendered available), caught by who knows what, and I am being brought back to life (I’m learning to praise Creation).

You’d think I would have something. I do and I don’t. I know this isn’t the whole story, and I know it is a mixed, more complex story than most of us have been led to believe, and I guess now I know that not-knowing how to live in this mad-dash world is appropriate. I wish I could say something more solid, but there appears to me to be nothing solid about the world, or perhaps it’s just me.

I recall how banal was the cruelty of my childhood passion for catching and releasing fish. I remember that I read the Book of Job during my ordeal. I was looking for some way to make sense of the suffering imposed upon my life. I have never overcome the experience I had of the darkness of God, the inscrutability of the Void, the carelessness of evolution. Now I rest on this brink of time, alive with possibility, quivering, knowing that it is all passing so quickly, and deeply thankful, that despite everything, the years of hopeless longing, I have one more chance, that I exist, caught and released into this life.

Solitude In Relationship

I’m in frontier land. And, I’m way off balance. Nothing new about those conditions, I guess, except I’m not alone this time. That fact makes me feel more responsible and gives me a little more incentive. I like having the opportunity that a new friendship affords me. There is a particular challenge however, that I know is bound to crop up, and I want to see what kind of gumption I’m going to need to face this relationship inevitability.

I’m talking about losing myself, and my tendency to lose contact when that happens. I’m savvy enough as a relationship/systems therapist to know that if I let this friendship become significant enough to me, I’m going to have a hard time holding onto me. What is so special about me? Why does this even matter? Well, the short answer is that I’m all I’ve got. If I get lost, for too long, then I will surrender my ability to relate. I will hurt me, and I might hurt someone else. And strangely, it might be because the relationship is too good.

You can see why I might be apprehensive. This is probably a case of knowing too much. I have worked with a lot of couples, and a few communities, where someone went absent because they couldn’t hold onto themselves. I’m a believer, that relationships are “people growing machines,” (Schnarch) that there is an inevitability to the way a relationship eventually eclipses personal development.

I am not really interested in losing myself. I’ve worked hard to get to know me and it seems I’m a better person for knowing myself, certainly I’m happier. But, all of that occurs out of relationship. If I want a relationship, and I do, then, unless I’m going to condemn this budding opportunity to a predetermined distance, then I’ve got to find a way to regain my hold on myself when this relationship exceeds my expectations.

The working theory I have now, the desperate hope I’m clinging to, is that my relationship with myself can be strong enough that it will never go away for long. I don’t know if I can trust myself that much. I know I’ll find out, if I let myself proceed into this relationship. I’m willing to find out, and I’m knowing that there will come a time, when I won’t have the capacity I need. My relationship with myself is going to reach its limits. This is what a good relationship is guaranteed to expose in me, the reality of my self-love. I know this is the good and the bad news of caring about another.

I don’t like knowing my own limits. It hurts too much, and is filled with such self-doubt. Still, I also know that this is the real gold, the true reason for relationship. I get to know the truth of who I am. I also get the chance to become someone else, someone more, someone who has gone beyond who I used to be. The problem is that I don’t know if I’m going to grow myself until I get there, and find out how I need to grow myself. The risk of relationship is not just that I might be rejected by someone else, but that I might reject my self. I might not confront myself, and become what I need to become, to love another, to love myself, as I need to.

I’m banking on solitude. I came to really know myself by hanging out, and cultivating a relationship, with me. I know, as a marital therapist, that people don’t generally enter relationship to be alone.  This form of aloneness, I’ve learned, is also inevitable. I can’t tell you the number of times someone felt that being alone in their relationship meant something is wrong, with their partner, with themselves, or with the relationship. I’m counting on being alone. I won’t have anything to bring to another if I’m not.

Aloneness paradoxically looks like the relationship path I need. I know that if I am going to be myself, and remain true to me, then I have to stay in constant relationship with me, at present that looks like more solitude. Maybe there will be a day when my grip on myself is so solid that I will not be in jeopardy of losing my balance, but that day doesn’t seem to be here. Till then, I will have to practice the paradox of solitude in relationship.

Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

The Rut

This morning I’m reflecting on my own tendency to corral and trap myself. I have just entered a friendship with a new person in my life. This is a source of great joy for me. But, it is also a reason for soberly looking at all of my past relationship ways. I have some patterns I would like to forego. I don’t want my anxiety to determine how available I am in this friendship. And I can’t help but see that when I lose myself out of anxiety, or disconnect for similar reasons, I have repeated a pattern that I have been hurt by many times, and that I have hurt others with just as often. It all seems to be related to the way (the rut) I choose to live.

I’ve been talking with my new friend about the very human tendency to create systems of thought and activity and then to get captured by them. I know I can, and do, frequently corner myself in this manner. I have actually been aware of this tendency for a long time. As a psychotherapist I work, almost daily, with people (individuals, couples and groups) who have created for themselves the prisons they are struggling to free themselves from. The once-imagined mansion on the hill has all of a sudden become the prison cell.  And, this happens over and over again.

I don’t much like knowing this. I know I am not immune to it. My mansions, my systems, have become the ruts I trap myself, and others with. Although I know this is utterly human and probably unavoidable, I chafe against this knowledge, this self-defeating and pain-causing attribute of who I am. I have even gone so far as to imagine that I should wear a sign, much like the surgeon general’s warning, that says “danger — relationship with this person could be bad for your health.”

I haven’t figured out a way to escape from the prison-building rut-inducing warden of myself yet. But, I keep trying. And failing. I take some solace from a friend of mine who is a developmental scientist. She says that one of the states of adult development, that is seldom reached, but possible, is what she calls “construct-aware.” That means, as I understand her, that one can achieve a state of awareness where one can realize they are creating constructs, I think she means favored belief and action structures, systems or ruts in my terms, and through awareness, not be captured by them. I hope so.

In the meantime though, I am saddled with the unsettling partial awareness that I am creating these elegant ruts for myself, and maintaining distances with my latest versions, and am unable to stop myself. Every direction I look I am implicated in causing pain and restriction. I wish that weren’t true. I’m afraid it is though. I don’t really take comfort from knowing that this is an aspect of the human condition.

What can I do? Right now, it seems that all I’m really capable of, is creating suffering, and being aware that I am doing it. I have compassion enough for myself to know that being aware, of the damage I’m causing. is something. But, I want to stop it. Or, so I tell myself. The trouble is, and it is deeply humbling to admit it, I don’t know how to stop. Do you? If so, please help me. If you, like me, are a perpetrator and victim of your ruts, then you have my heart-felt sympathy.

Maybe my new friendship will be a help with this. We have talked about it. We have tried changing things around to avoid the ruts we know about. But, I haven’t yet admitted, until now, that I am totally caught in the web I keep spinning. I can’t seem to help myself and I know I am dangerous.

I want to do better. I really do. I know that the kind of relationships I am capable of, and the kind of community I build (and allow), are governed by the ruts I create, and indulge in. I spent all of last year writing, and thinking about freedom, and the tyranny of the self, and this is the amount of progress I’ve made with my on-going struggle to free you, and I, from the one in me who governs what I do.

I am glad to have come this far, to know my real responsibility for what is happening, and I feel sad and desperate. There is nothing grand about the suffering I do, or the hurt I create. Forgive me! And forgive anyone else you know who is doing it. This is part of my brokenness. It is part of my poignant, mysteriously imperfect humanity. In truth, it is part of the nakedness with which I arrive at this our shore.

Anti-Structure

This will probably be a Slow Lane that many will not enjoy. Why? Because; it is going to be about an idea, then later about me. This idea came to me when I was in graduate school, doing research on a psychological sense of community. It has taken nearly 25 years of experience for me to realize some of the true meaning behind this idea. I hope to share this idea with you, and then begin to explore the complex meaning that this idea has brought into my life. The idea, very simply put, is that the forms that surround all psychological, spiritual and community practices, get in the way. Here’s what I mean.

In graduate school (in the 80s) I was unable to find, in the psychological literature, any references to collective (shared) states of consciousness. This drove me to the anthropological literature; there I found several accounts, having to do with hallucinogens (shamanic use), ritual (by indigenous people) and rites-of-passage (communal rituals). I found the work of Victor Turner, a cultural anthropologist, who’s interest in symbols led him to observe many communal rituals, through which he recognized rituals that evoked a shift from individual to collective states of consciousness. He spent a good deal of his career describing and analyzing these rites, and the states they evoked. His work inspired me to look at the Community-building Workshop (CBW a copyright of FCE) as a contemporary collective ritual process.

While reading Turner I came across a book of his entitled Structure and Anti-Structure. I didn’t really understand the significance of what he was pointing out in this work, until now. At the time, I only understood that if limenality was going to arise collectively (the source of community feelings) then the normal structures of social life have to go away. Now, I think he was referring to something much larger and all-encompassing then that.

Now, I believe he was trying to articulate his awareness that structures, of all sorts, impede awareness of the primeval bonds that we all share.

This realization has grown more important to me. At first, I didn’t know that structures, such as meditational,  psychotherapeutic, or ritual practices and communal guidelines, could so easily, if I held to them too tightly, lead me astray. I found most of these practices to be very useful. But, as time went along, something surprising, and hard to explain, began to happen.

Success came less easily, and I began to resent (at first unconsciously) the very practices and guidelines that once served me. Where once those practices freed me, now it seemed that they were ineffective and even bound me. I came to resent, people in the earlier stages of this awareness, who were practice or guideline “Nazis” to me. The structure these practices and guidelines imposed, were great training wheels, but they actually kept me from riding freely.

Further on in my development, I’ve come to realize that these practices and guidelines do not produce an experience. I do. I mistook the practices for the thing itself. I relied on guidelines to produce community when all along it resided in me. As long as I looked outside myself, as the practices and guidelines seemed to have encouraged me to do, I missed my own capacity, my own responsibility, for being the change I sought. I couldn’t live in community, if, as I once believed, community was only a product of the shared practice of guidelines. I was lucky, perhaps it was my training as a transpersonal psychologist, but I somehow realized community was a state of consciousness, that was more dependent upon me, than on the guidelines and practices.

This has been a good, important, and hard lesson for me. Realizing that what I seek exists outside of practices and guidelines is scary and liberating. Facing my own responsibility for living inside, or outside, of these desired states is another matter. I don’t even know how to talk about the paradoxical nature of what I am realizing. For instance, I am not sure how I feel about the fact that these states exist inside me. Even community, which involves the paradoxical other, is as available to me, as I allow it to be. Community exists inside and outside of me. I know that it is always available, but I am not always willing, or able, to feel it. Somehow my consciousness is implicated.

All I know for the moment is that the practices are not the states I seek and that I have some responsibility, in how I use my consciousness, for living in what I desire. I seem to get the exact proportion of any of these experiences that I can handle. I know now that that says more about me than it does about these states. I seem to be the structure that is in my way. How paradoxical, because I am what has enabled me to get this far too. Happily, though I don’t always rely on this knowing — emptying, letting go, and jumping into the grave — are all anti-structural.  

Ripening

Life apparently thrives by occasionally knocking over the apple cart.  Just when I think I have something figured out, I am plunged, once again, in over my head. Sometimes I think Life has a wicked sense of humor and is a bit sadistic. I usually occupy this sentiment when I am feeling sorry for myself. I’m not in that place now. So lately, in the midst of my unforeseen happiness, where I am feeling glad to be me, I have been reflecting on what is happening when I, and my world, get turned upside down. It looks like I am adopting a new attitude. It seems that these recurring dilemmas, as predictably unpredictable as they may be, are all part of a process that seems to be ripening me.

The idea that I am being ripened appeals to me. I know that soon I am going to fall off the tree. I know, that despite all of my illusions, protestations and elaborate projects and schemes, the end is coming. I’ve stopped worrying about it. But, I am still curious. So the idea that I am being ripened, that I could be the seed pod for some, as yet undefined, new life form, intrigues me.

Now bear in mind, as I am this minute, I am only speculating. I don’t really know anything. But, I keep imagining death as a form of transition, a shift from one form to another. In my mind, seeing death as a form of transition has a lot of explanatory value. Mainly, viewing things this way, makes the ordeals, the inconveniences of my life, the little broken edges, have more dignity. These recurring challenges are not a sign of my incompleteness; instead I am being ripened. Maybe I am being prepared, ripening like a wine grape in the sun, steeping like a good cup of tea, evolving like a caterpillar being chrysalized. The thought that even death is a part of evolution, that I could, once more, be becoming something else, fills me with a feeling that I am going deeper into the familiar, instead of being cast away, dried out, useless, and done.

Thinking this way also helps me appreciate the difficulties that keep arising. They may actually be Nature’s way of shaping me into a new form, one that I cannot imagine but can intuit. I know I do better, I play the hand dealt to me, am more creative in my responses to Life, when I am anticipating becoming. I may not know where I am heading, may not have any idea about how I’m going to get anywhere, but I have a sense that I am moving, ripening, changing, becoming something else. 

This may be sheer delusion, certainly I have no science to back it up, but it still serves me. It seems to me that no matter what I believe, no matter how sophisticated I am with the scientific method, I still have to come to terms with the great inscrutable mystery of death. And, it also seems to me, that how I come to terms with death determines how I come to terms with Life. I live according to the way I envision death.

Ripening offers me a chance to participate, not like I alone hold the key to my fate. I am prepared to be alone, to take responsibility for this life, actually, I think ripening demands it. But, ripening, becoming, implies yet another stage, in another, I would say, greater context. I seem to be part of some larger, as yet unknown, ecosystem. If this is true, and in my current imagination it is, then there is this strange other, that I am part of, but that is unknown. I am simultaneously the new seed arriving and the old ecosystem receiving it. In my mind, I am being prepared to quicken a greater wholeness.

Death, in this line of thought, isn’t the end of the line, it is some kind of timely ripening. As the caterpillar entering the chrysalis, or a pupae becoming an adult, there is a change of states. The timing is semi-predictable, and the general direction is assured. Despite the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the energy in the Universe doesn’t seem to be running down, instead the Universe seems to confound us by conserving, even increasing its energy. Death may be another expansion of the Universe.

Ripening is a mysterious phenomenon for me. For instance it seems to happen by virtue of a combination of circumstances. There seems to be something inside that matures. And, while that is happening, there also seems to be something outside that provides the necessary stimulation. Ripening, to me, is a co-creative process. This thought thrills me. Maybe, by ripening, accepting the unacceptable turns on this thrill ride of life, going into the darkness of Mystery, and dying as I live, I get a little closer to the source of all this complex stimulation.

If this is true, wow, am I glad to be alive and to get to die! If it is a delusion, a fantasy of my own making, then I’m merely glad I had imagination enough to create an interesting  way of life.

I hope you do too.

On Dying

I have recently been focused upon happiness. I discovered the possibility that I could be happy, that I could be just myself, during a meeting with a group of elders. Since that time, I’ve been looking at my life, and trying to identify the chief obstacles to my happiness. This piece is about what appears to be my foremost obstacle, death. I identified my anxiety as a daily obstacle, and then fear of death when I examined my anxiety more closely. I gave myself a retreat for the holidays, felt the loneliness I’ve traditionally resisted, and came up with a gift I never imagined. I rediscovered dying, the nemesis of my happiness, as I kept lonely vigil over the holidays. 

What I mean is that dying didn’t change, it is still an inscrutable mystery, a silent one-way passage, through which I know I will one day go. Instead something in me changed.

It started with the realization that I would be (have been) sorely disappointed if I let my fear of death keep me from being happy in this life. Having been surprised to discover the viability of genuine happiness, that what I thought was just an advertising slogan could be real in my life, I realized I was unlikely to truly be myself if I was not happy. I have been thinking about happiness, as a regular part of being myself, of actualizing Mystery’s creation, ever since.

So what has death got to do with happiness? Those two words, death and happiness, don’t often appear in the same sentence. What relationship do they have in my life? As I explained, happiness, for me, depended upon finding a new way to relate to the fact of my coming death.  And that happened! In no way I could have expected, but death is suddenly another rite of passage that is going to deliver me to a new way of being. This is still scary but not as scary as it once was. Here’s what I discovered. Probably it won’t work for you, your freedom is your business afterall, but it might help you to know about it.

I noticed a pattern, that seemed to prevail in my life, and in the lives of the elders I find myself respecting the most. It has to do with diminishment. I wrote about it once, in one of my Slow Lane pieces, and it has stayed with me, as a compelling paradoxical mystery, that it seems to me, everybody should know about. You see the paradox is that diminishment, whether it be by hardship, loss, infirmity, bad luck, or old age, seems to lead (not in all cases) to a kind of enlargement. What I mean is that those who have suffered being made smaller and less capable by life, miraculously gained some new capabilities and perspective. Diminishment lead to enlargement.

This pattern gives me a lot of reassurance. Not in some New-Agey way, because having to suffer the uncertainty and pain of diminishment is still in the picture, but because someone new, with a bigger picture, often emerges from the ashes. As Rumi says in one of his poems, after exploring his earlier lives as mineral, plant, and flesh, “when, by dying, have I ever been made smaller?” I see death as the great Diminisher, and as a result of noticing the reliability of this pattern, as the great Enlarger. Now my anxiety about death is greatly reduced.

That is not all, though it could have been enough. I also realized that if I put death in my right hand, and learning, growth and life in my left hand, I could enhance my life by merely shifting my attention to the left hand. It seems that if I look too intently at my right hand, at death, it fills my field of vision and becomes everything. I am dead before I die. If however I attend to the other hand, I’m not living in denial of death, it is right there with my other hand, I am instead actively involved with living, learning and growing.

Shifting my attention has never been easy. My fear and anxiety have too frequently determined where my attention goes, but one of the gifts of my stroke difficulty was I had to learn how to do just that. You see I had suffered such losses, of my marriage, family, home, health, and work that I was kind of mesmerized by them. I knew that in order to live, I had to shift my attention away from what I had lost, to what remained. It took a long time. I still have days when the losses overrun me. But, after a difficult time, I succeeded. It helped to discover that quite a lot remained. But I wouldn’t have made that discovery if I hadn’t shifted my attention. So, I know I can do it, because I had to do it, with the chips down, earlier to save my life.

I know I can do it again, that living fully, being true to myself, staying close to Mystery, being happy, matters enough to me, that the work involved with shifting my attention adds to the dignity of living as consciously as possible. I’ll probably fail often, but if I’m diligent, maybe I can move my default position of fear and anxiety toward happiness. Can you imagine that! At last I can.

It’s An Inside/Outside Job

I don’t even know how to start this piece. I’m savvy enough to know that I am entering an area that is totally slippery with paradox, where the ground under my feet is not the ground under my feet. I am reasonably certain that I am going to be broken open, I hope I can convey something of this experience, as I explore the mixed and contradictory feelings which accompany this look at freedom. You see I have the powerful notion that personal freedom is an inside job, and I tend to believe that we all need help. There is a contradiction here that makes it difficult for me to begin.

OK, to be upfront, I need help. I’m hoping you have thought of some of this stuff, or will think about it, and share with me what you think. You just might hold the key that can help me find the way through this dilemma.

You see I am stopped, stymied by the twin realizations that follow. I cannot be free as long as another is not free, and I cannot free anyone. What good is it to say that freedom is ultimately an inside job, which I believe, if it is also true that freedom is dependent upon what I cannot effect? Others determine their freedom, or do they? I determine mine, or do I? You see, despite my passionate interest in freedom, I really have no answers. I am just confused.

I think there is a difficult paradox here. To the extent I am connected, and I know I am, it is true that my freedom depends upon the freedom of others. To the extent that I am a separate unique being, and I know I am, then my freedom depends upon my choices. The problem is that both, my separateness and my connection, are true, and together they leave me no clear path of action. I want to be free, and that depends upon others, which I cannot free. Have I gone as far as I can; would it be wise, or unwise, to focus upon others? I want others to be free, but their freedom depends upon my freedom, which I am responsible for and must procure alone. Yet I know that I can only go so far alone.

Recently a friend confronted me about the amount of urgency that I inject into my writing. He rightly points out how perfect everything seems to be right now. Things seem to unfold as they must. And adding the pressure for change only seems to create resistance. His perspective, which I share, is that the necessary changes are underway. Perfection seems to be perfecting itself.

Still I find myself banging around inside the sense that things could be improved. I don’t like, and don’t want my daughter to grow up with, the sense that we are slowly extinguishing the chances for complex life, including ourselves, surviving on this magnificent planet. My heart is broken by what I see and experience. It doesn’t feel right to not try to do something about it. Am I not part of Perfection trying to perfect itself? I believe I am, but I admit that the sense of urgency I feel, probably a function of my breaking heart, is truly counterproductive. This time of emergency, when so much is at stake, confounds me.

I think I know this much. Some part of this is an inside job. I am responsible for lining up the parts of me, and giving myself what I need to operate in an integrated and self-chosen fashion. This is what only I can do.  I can be a distinct part of the whole. I can be a microcosm of the whole, a kind of mini-wholeness, which increases the integrity of the already integrous whole.

Being an aspect of this larger integrity puts me in an inherently vulnerable position however. I feel the paroxysms of Perfection perfecting itself. This occurs as longing, desire and grief. I suffer when I am not me, when I fail to be true, when I fail to hold onto myself, when I fail to do the real inside job and when I fail to open. I am learning that I also suffer when I do open, sometimes joyously, when Perfection discovers some new way of perfecting Itself.

As I have been thinking about this dilemma, as I have been steeping in the paradox of freedom, I have come to realize that it cannot be just an inside job. I may like emphasizing the internal dimension of the freedom movement, because of my own sense that the interior aspect of life is largely ignored by this culture, but I know that really it is an inside/outside job. A truer apprehension of the paradox of freedom is that both dimensions are important. OK, so I live largely in a world that seems to adhere alone to the side of the paradox that holds freedom as some thing which external conditions, if they are just right, will insure. I know that is only half the truth. And I would be wrong if I extolled, alone, the virtues of an inner life. The truth is, I can go only so far without them both.

I want to make a difference.  That’s probably an ego-desire. But, I do honestly want to make a difference. I don’t think that is strictly ego-concern, I think the better part of me has that concern too. Maybe, it is not in my hands. Maybe, just by the fact of my existence, I do make a difference. Maybe, it’s not up to me at all. Can I rest in that awareness? Yes, and not quite. It is hard to hold on, to know what to do, how to be, in the midst of this heart-breaking and magnificent experience.

Life asks much of us, of me. I am learning that just following my own tendencies (in this case considering freedom to be strictly an inside job) isn’t enough. I may be enormously satisfied, to find my tendency mirrored by others, but I am not contributing to anybody’s freedom (my own especially), if I am not exploring getting involved with the freedom of others, as much as I am involved with what I consider my own.